


Summerhall

by RhiaWriter



Series: The Crow Flies South Universe [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Affairs, Angst, Bittersweet, Break Up, Dark Rhaegar Targaryen, Duty before love, F/M, Forbidden Love, Jon Snow is Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Longing, Not Promising a HEA, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, R Plus L Equals J, Rhaegar Targaryen Being an Asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27799888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhiaWriter/pseuds/RhiaWriter
Summary: Five years ago, Lord Commander Jon Snow and Queen Daenerys Targaryen led the greatest army in Westeros's history to defeat the Others, ushering in a new era of peace and prosperity. Now, Daenerys rules as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms with Willas Tyrell at her side as king consort. The Lord Commander remains with the Night's Watch, despite calls from the army and the small folk for him to rule as king.To commemorate the anniversary of their great triumph, Daenerys summons Jon Snow and a contingent of northerners to the capital. There, the Lord Commander confronts the choices he made at the end of the war, as well as his long-buried feelings for the queen.
Relationships: Daenerys Targaryen/Willas Tyrell, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: The Crow Flies South Universe [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828660
Comments: 104
Kudos: 308





	Summerhall

The summer air felt sticky on Jon’s skin. The heaviness of it made him sluggish. Ghost felt it too, panting uncomfortably under his fur. Summers came regularly now, after the Great War. The past five years had each held four seasons, each lasting about three months. After the first summer had ended so quickly, people had panicked, convinced that they were in for another long winter with not enough food harvested to take them through it. But the winter had been short and mild. The people of Westeros were settling into a new rhythm, and after years of hardship, prosperity was at hand.

“Are you sweating?” Arya rode up next to him, looking far more comfortable than he felt in her britches and linens.

“Of course I’m sweating.” Jon wiped sweat off his forehead. “It’s bloody hot down here.”

“Is that the only reason you’re sweating?” Arya asked.

“What other reason do I need?” Jon ground his teeth, dreading where this conversation was going.

“I don’t know, perhaps that you're about to see Daenerys again after five years. And meet her husband. And have to receive a medal among a crowd of thousands, many of whom, rumor has it, wanted you to be the king after the war.”

Why was it impossible for his sisters to leave well enough alone? “I defeated the Others, Arya. I can handle a celebration in the capital.”

“The five-year anniversary of the end of the Great War,” Arya sighed. “And yet it feels like just yesterday, doesn’t it?”

“It feels like it’s been five years,” Jon corrected. “Look at how much we’ve accomplished.” Silver-mining missions north of the ruins of the Wall; the integration of the Free Folk with the rest of the north; the transformation of the Night’s Watch from an order to protect the Wall into peacekeepers working to help integrate the two cultures of the north. It had been a busy five years.

“True.” Arya looked smaller without furs, more like the girl he had once known. But Arya was no longer a girl. She had transformed into a fierce spearwife, marrying Tormund's son and helping to integrate the Free Folk and the ortherners. She had blossomed during the war. Her hard edges had blunted, and she had become a diplomat for the north. “I bet it feels like only yesterday since you last saw Daenerys.”

“It feels like it’s been five years.” Jon gripped his reins, trying frantically to think of anything to discuss besides the Dragon Queen.

“You never talk about her.”

That wasn’t strictly true. He had drunkenly poured out his heart to Sam when he received the news that she and Willas Tyrell had married. And he and the queen exchanged cold, perfunctory letters that at times circled around their past but never directly confronted it. “I talk about her as much as any lord commander should talk about his queen.”

“If you keep all your emotions wrapped up inside, they’ll explode eventually,” Arya said. “I should know.”

“It worked fine for Ned.” Jon’s voice was bitter, but part of him relished in those feelings. His anger at his uncle still felt fresh years after learning the truth of his identity. That anger was safe and simple. Easier than the confusing stew of emotions he felt for his queen.

“But not for the people he lied to.” Realization dawned on Arya’s face as if she were only now understanding the extent of what this trip must mean for Jon. “Does returning to King’s Landing feel different now that you know who you are? This might have been your home.”

“I’m still a bastard.” Jon gritted his teeth. “I’ve always been a bastard. The Wall was the best inheritance I ever could have hoped for.”

“Not if Daenerys had legitimized you like she’d wanted—"

“Arya,” Jon snapped, his voice holding the biting tone of command. “None of that. I’m coming down here to put those rumors to rest. We must show the court and the people of King’s Landing that I pose no threat to the king consort or Daenerys’s reign.”

“That’s not what the people of King’s Landing want. Haven’t you heard the songs, brother? They want their dashing lord commander to whisk their beautiful queen away. Everyone likes a romance with a happy ending.”

“Since when do you give a fuck about romance?” Jon asked. “And that’s not what the court wants. It would throw the country into civil war, and you know it. And I won’t hear any more mutterings about my heritage. You, Daenerys, Sam, and Sansa are the only living souls who know the truth. We all swore to keep it that way. This will be a peaceful few days, and then we’ll return home and forget we ever had to deal with any nonsense in the south.”

“Simple as that, huh?” Arya cocked her head at him in disbelief.

“Simple as that,” Jon said firmly.

They made camp that night near the place where he and Arya had camped the first time they had come to King’s Landing. His situation had felt complicated to him then, but he had had no idea how complicated everything would become in the war. The intensity of fighting for the fate of humanity had broken him down to the point where his vows felt laughable, meaningless, and he could no longer deny himself the love of his partner, who was putting herself on the line every day to save the world with him.

Once the Wall was breached, he learned to live with his hypocrisy. Every risk he took made it easier. Death stalked them at every corner. If he was fated to die in the gods-forsaken tundra, surely his gods wouldn’t begrudge him some stolen happiness before the end? But miraculously, he survived. And so did Daenerys. The dragon-riding heroes of the Great War, their love affair poorly hidden from the troops they led.

The last few months Jon and Daenerys had spent together had been full of such sweet victory for the world and bitter partings for them. It had left Jon with an ache that he feared would never go away. He’d made his choice—remaining in the north as lord commander and turning the Night’s Watch into something that the world needed now that the Others were defeated. And as he bedded down in his tent for the night, he tried to remind himself of all the reasons he had stayed with the Night’s Watch, listing his accomplishments over the past few years, to stave off the panic of having to face those violet eyes again.

***

He smelled her before he saw her. Or, rather, Ghost smelled her—catching her scent on the wind in the warm morning breeze—lavender, smoke, and dragon. The scent was both earthy and otherworldly, and painfully familiar. His listless and overly warm northern wolf had a rush of energy, bounding up to the queen and scaring her guards. Daenerys laughed with joy at the sight of Ghost, and Jon wrenched himself out of his wolf's mind, unable to bear the happiness in those eyes that he had once caused so much pain.

“You all right there, brother?” Arya asked him over the campfire. Tormund put down his plate to look at Jon curiously.

“Fine,” Jon shrugged. “I think the queen and king consort will be here soon.” There were a few too many sidelong looks in Jon’s direction, but he did his best to bear them stoically.

He heard a cry and sure enough, Drogon soared overhead, black and impressive as always. The northern camp cheered to see the dragon who had become their hero during the Great War—the only remaining dragon in the world after the Others had taken Viserion, and Rhaegal had died to save Jon.

Daenerys wasn’t flying on his back but riding next to her husband. She sat astride her horse in trousers, a long red cloak around her shoulders. Her hair was twisted into a series of curls and braids that swooped glamorously off her neck, surrounding a prominently placed dragon crown. She looked healthier than the last time he had seen her. There was a pink tint to her face, flushed from the heat, and her face and body were fuller, no doubt well-nourished now after the dismal rations they had survived on during the war. Her violet eyes caught his for a second, and he felt a pang as he realized that he couldn’t read them. Five years ago, she had been an open book to him, every glance containing meanings only he could understand.

The king consort, Willas Tyrell, rode next to her. He looked older than the last time Jon had seen him, his large body softer. He wore a plate of armor that combined the Targaryen dragon insignia with the yellow rose clashing against the bright red. He nodded at Jon affably, and Jon nodded back, before scrambling to his feet and bending the knee to the two monarchs. Arya quickly followed suit, as did the rest of their men.

“Rise,” Daenerys gestured to the group as she dismounted, and everyone rose. Her voice was deeper than he remembered. He wondered if she still had the tendency to break into girlish giggles.

Jon rose to his feet and barked at his men to grab hold of the horses. He felt the eyes of the camp nervously flicking between him and the queen. He did his best to ignore them.

“Lady Arya, are you well?” Daenerys strode to Jon’s sister, who smiled.

“I am,” Arya nodded.

“I hear you are married now?”

“She’s my good-daughter, this one!” Tormund came up behind Arya and clapped her on the back. “But still no grandchildren on the way.”

“I’m not ready to give up the life of a spearwife,” Arya tossed her head defiantly.

“And Torreg respects that?” Daenerys asked.

“I don’t give him much of a choice,” Arya said fiercely. Their marriage did not seem easy, but Arya was still better suited to Torreg than she ever would be to a northern lord. Her marriage, along with Alys Karstark’s, were instrumental in integrating the Free Folk into northern culture.

“Lady Arya,” the king consort bent over Arya’s hand and kissed it. Once, Arya would have flinched at being treated like a courtier, but now she took it in stride, nodding to the king. “It is good to see you again. You’ve grown into quite the force in the north, I hear.”

“Apologies that the Wardenness of the North couldn’t come,” Arya said. Bran had been the key to their success during the war, warging into the wight Viserion to deal the Others a final blow. But the magic had been too much for him, and he had died in the attack. Sansa became Wardenness of the North and Lady of Winterfell.

“We hear she is expecting a child soon?” Daenerys asked.

“Her third in five years,” Arya sighed. “Not sure how she’s managed it on top of putting the north back together.”

“Sansa’s very efficient.” Daenerys’s voice was laced with sadness. After five years of marriage, there was still no royal heir. It appeared that Daenerys’s greatest fears of her own barrenness were true.

“Our reports say she’s had help.” Tyrion appeared from behind the monarchs, perched on his special contraption that allowed him to ride. With help from a page, Tyrion dismounted from his horse, his eyes flickering in Jon’s direction. “The lord commander has been busy.”

“There has been much to do in the north, as there has been in the south, I’m sure.” Jon gestured to the fire. “Would the king and queen like some food? We were just finishing our midday meal.”

“Is that rabbit stew I smell?” Daenerys strode towards the fire.

“Fair warning, Your Grace, it’s not Hobb’s stew. I made it,” Pyp said, as he began dishing out a bowl. 

“Pyp!” Daenerys’s face broke into a dazzling smile at the sight of him. Jon suddenly felt greedy for it. “You came all the way south?”

“We missed you, Your Grace,” Pyp smiled. “Wanted to make sure the south is treating you right.”

Jon risked a glance at the king consort as Pyp said that, who was looking at the queen with a slight frown on his face.

“I’m a fair sight warmer and better fed than I was in the north.” Daenerys plopped into a canvas camp chair that was waiting for her by the fire. Pyp handed her a bowl, and she inhaled the scent. Jon was full of memories of how good rabbit stew tasted after surviving yet another battle against the Others. It had never tasted quite as good since.

The queen dipped her spoon into the bowl and dug into the stew. “Mmm,” she moaned in a manner that Jon was loath to admit went right to his groin. “Still. I miss the north some days.” She made eye contact with Jon for a moment, and the heat suddenly felt oppressive.

“Your Grace,” Jon turned to King Willas. “Our rabbit stew is nothing fancy. But you’re welcome to try some as well.”

“Thank you, Lord Commander,” the king consort sat next to the queen and accepted a bowl. He ate it delicately, lacking the relish that Daenerys put into her meal.

“So, what’s the plan then for the procession into the city?” Jon crouched across the fire from the monarchs.

“It’s always business with you, isn’t it?” Daenerys raised a brow at him.

“We didn’t travel all this way for a pleasure trip, Your Grace,” Jon countered.

“Of course not.” Daenerys dropped her spoon in her bowl and set it at her feet. “You came here to show the south that the north is a dutiful subject to the throne. And to give us the opportunity to honor you as we were unable to after the war.”

“Really, Your Grace,” Arya said. “We’re confused at the rumors about the north’s loyalty. Surely, you don’t believe them?”

“I don’t,” Daenerys said. “Which is why I felt comfortable asking you to travel south and show King’s Landing that you have no interest in separating from the people who saved you.”

“And that the beloved former lord commander of the queen’s armies has no grand ambitions for himself,” Tyrion added.

“Of course I don’t,” Jon glared at Tyrion from across the fire. Both Daenerys and Tyrion had written him letters, imploring him to come south and bend the knee to both Daenerys and Willas to demonstrate his loyalty to the south. That didn’t mean Tyrion needed to say it so baldly in front of Daenerys’s husband.

“Good.” Tyrion glanced at Daenerys, who was smiling reassuringly at her husband. Jon suddenly felt the urge to hit something. He settled with throwing some more kindling into the fire. “The first image of the northern contingent coming into the city is very important. “Her Grace will lead the party through the streets of King’s Landing with Lady Arya at her side. Behind them will ride the king consort and the lord commander.”

Jon coughed as the fire flared, catching on his kindling.

“This will help present an image to the capital of the friendly relationship between the north, the Night’s Watch, and the crown. You will parade up to the steps of the newly rebuilt Sept of Baelor, where the queen will knight both Lady Arya and the lord commander before the cheering crowds. Then you will travel to the Red Keep for a week of celebrations.”

“You’re actually going to knight me?” Arya asked incredulously.

“Why not? You deserve it after everything you did during the war,” Daenerys said. “And you won’t be the first woman I’ve knighted.” Daenerys gestured behind her to where Ser Brienne, leader of the Queensguard, stood sentry.

“I don’t know if I can be a spearwife and a knight,” Arya said.

“If anyone can be both, it’s you,” Jon smiled at his sister.

“Besides,” Daenerys said. “Your brother wouldn’t agree to being knighted on his own. This is the only way he will let me give him anything.”

Jon bit back his own retort and rose from his crouch. “Shall we get on with it then?”

They’d traveled south with an honor guard of a thousand men, and Daenerys had her own five hundred accompany her north of the city to meet the party, so it was a slow march to the capital.

Jon and Willas rode in silence for a time, and Jon had to wonder if the gods were punishing him for his sins. His passion for Daenerys had been an uncontrollable flame five years ago, when he had given hardly a thought to Lord Willas, Daenerys’s betrothed but not yet husband. But now, riding beside the man, he feared his shame would swallow him whole.

"This is your second time in King’s Landing?” Willas asked, by way of small talk.

“Aye,” Jon croaked.

“The city’s changed since last you were here. There were some difficult times, but it’s starting to mend,” Lord Willas said.

“We hear good things about your work. It seems you and the queen have done much to put the south back together.”

“The south,” Lord Willas said. “You say that like it’s a different country from the north.”

“I meant no offense,” Jon said. “Of course we’re part of the Seven Kingdoms. I only meant our work has been a bit different, given how much change the north went through.”

“There are changes here as well. The seasons are different. The politics have all changed since the war.”

“I’m sure.” Jon saw the gates of King’s Landing rising in the distance. It was strange returning now that he knew who he was. Rhaegar’s son: the bastard whose parents’ union destroyed the Targaryen dynasty. It was some sort of miracle that Daenerys was successfully ruling here, after all the damage his birth had caused.

“Including the people’s view of northerners,” King Willas said. “You are very popular with the army, you know.”

“We went through a lot together.” Jon gazed at the back of Daenerys’s magnificent dragon cloak, fluttering over her horse’s back. “But my place is in the north. Some day, the army will understand that.”

“It’s been a lot to rebuild,” King Willas followed Jon’s gaze, also resting on the back of Daenerys. “It would be a shame if the peace we’ve created was destroyed again.”

Jon wrenched his gaze from Daenerys to look at the king consort. There was no threat in his voice, but rather what sounded like genuine concern, which only made Jon feel worse.

“I didn’t come here to destroy anything,” Jon said. “I came here to support the queen’s reign. She wrote and suggested that my presence might calm some discontents. She said you agreed to it.”

“I did,” King Willas said.

“Good,” Jon said. “Then we’re here for the same reason.”

“Good.”

They crossed through the city gates, and any chance for conversation died with the screams and cheers of the crowds. The streets were lined with the most people that Jon had seen since the army returned south. Girls threw flowers in front of their horses’ hooves. Men waved banners sewn with white wolves—a folksy sigil for their former lord commander. They screamed for Daenerys, too, reveling in the opportunity for celebration that they were deprived of at the end of the war, when the Seven Kingdoms had to focus on survival. Some young men began humming a tune that began to spread through the crowd. Jon flushed to hear it. It was the popular folksong about the Dragon Queen and her White Wolf.

When they reached the steps of the Sept of Baelor, Jon shuddered, picturing the man who had protected him, raised him, and lied to him being beheaded on these steps. No doubt Daenerys and Tyrion had chosen it for that reason—a visible symbol to heal past wounds between the north and the south.

Daenerys dismounted and climbed the steps, arranging her dragon cloak dramatically around her. As always when she was in front of a crowd, her small size couldn’t contain her charisma. It radiated over the crowd. Arya and Jon dismounted and made their way up the steps towards their queen.

“The north has come south to celebrate the anniversary of our great triumph!” Daenerys shouted over the crowd.

“Lady Arya Stark fought bravely, slaying several Others and helping to vanquish the Long Night. Lady Arya, kneel before me.”

Arya knelt. Brienne of Tarth stepped forward and handed Daenerys Life Giver, the sword she had used during the war. Jon swallowed a lump in his throat. He had taught her how to fight with it—trained her in the snow.

His sister rose with a grin on her face. The honor meant less to her now than it would have when she was a girl. As a spearwife, she should spurn such formality, but Jon couldn’t help but grin back at her, thinking of his sister, little Arya Underfoot, wanting to be a great swordsman like her brothers.

“And Lord Commander,” Daenerys leveled her gaze at him, her violet eyes steely and guarded. “You led our armies during the War for Humanity. The Seven Kingdoms are in your debt.”

Jon knelt before her, glancing once at the crowd that held its breath in anticipation.

And then his eyes were back on hers, trying to find some connection, some gleam of recognition of what they had once been to each other. “Do you, Lord Commander Snow, swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your liege lady, your queen, and—” the queen's resolve broke for a moment— “and your king? To fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?”

“I do.” Jon bowed his head as the sword touched his shoulder. More oaths. More promises. More ways to disappoint. As the crowd roared its approval, and the queen gestured for him to rise, Jon couldn’t help but remember that this was not the oath that Daenerys had once wanted him to take.

***

“You could be my king,” Dany’s words came to him as if through a fog. They were lying in his bed at Castle Black, a mere week after he had learned the horrible truth. Ned Stark was not his father. Rhaegar Targaryen was. His parents had run away together; Howland Reed had told him the truth, and Bran had confirmed it. His real father had been no rapist, but this truth gave him little comfort, for the tale that Bran told him was no great romance, either. The crown prince’s dalliance with Lyanna Stark had led to the death of Jon’s grandfather and uncle. After his mother learned what had happened to her family, she had tried to flee back north to set things right. But Rhaegar had stopped her. He imprisoned her in the Tower of Joy, insisting that the child she carried was a child of prophecy and needed to be raised as such.

“What?” Jon asked, not able to follow her words. In his despair, Jon had continued going through the motions of his old life. Swearing Arya, Sansa, Bran, Daenerys, and Howland Reed—the only ones who knew the truth—to secrecy and throwing himself into his work. For reasons that he couldn’t understand, Dany hadn’t pushed him away. She hadn’t left his side for the past week, coming into his bed every night, like she had been since Viserion died and the Others breached the Wall. Jon hadn’t had the energy to push her away, taking comfort in the fact that she didn’t seem to blame him for the downfall of her—their—family.

“I could legitimize you and make you king.” He focused on her violet eyes, gazing at him with a spark of hope that felt completely alien to the numb hell he was currently living in.

“Why would you do that?” Jon rubbed his eyes, fighting the impulse to turn away from her and attempt sleep once more.

“Why would I do that?” Her voice was slightly panicked. “You’re the last male Targaryen.”

“I am not a Targaryen. I’m a Snow,” Jon said.

“You’re Rhaegar’s _son_. The manner of your birth doesn’t matter when we’re the only ones left.”

“The manner of my birth doesn’t matter?” Rage surged through Jon, shaking him out of his numbness. He leapt from the bed and began to pace the room. “It might not matter to you, but it sure as hells would matter to a great deal of people. If you legitimized me, you would lose Dorne for generations—they would never bend the knee to Rhaegar and Lyanna’s bastard.” He threw a cloak around his shoulders and turned to stand near the fire in his freezing chamber. “The Tyrells would have every reason to turn against you—yet another Targaryen ripping up a marriage contract.”

“We’re only betrothed—”

“And see how that worked for Rhaegar and Lyanna when they broke her betrothal to Robert. And then we have the north.”

“The north?” Daenerys asked. “The north adores you. The north would rally to your cause.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Jon’s laugh was bitter. He willed himself not to be cruel. “Do you know how many northerners died because of me, because of my parents? My grandfather and uncle to start. It’s been years of heartache and civil war since my moth—” he tripped over the word. What a precious word— “since my mother ran off with my—with Rhaegar. And you think they would rally around my Targaryen claim?”

“You are not your parents.” Daenerys sat up, pulling her furs around her. “You’re their war hero. They would be fools not to rally to your cause. They would benefit immensely from a northern king.”

“You don't know that,” Jon snapped. “Besides, none of this matters. Because, I’ll stop you right there. Even if this wasn’t the most politically foolish idea I’ve ever heard—” Daenerys flinched—“you’re forgetting one very important thing. Something you always conveniently forget. My vows. I can’t be a king.”

“ _I_ forget your vows?” Daenerys’s eyes were wide in disbelief. And she had a point. They both forgot his vows. Or at least, conveniently put them aside whenever they needed one another, which seemed to be just about every night at this point.

"I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children.” He hadn’t technically betrayed his vows to the letter, even if he betrayed them in spirit. “I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. Declaring myself king of the bloody Seven Kingdoms and marrying you would be a bit of a betrayal of those, don't you think?”

Daenerys’s eyes hardened. “You took those vows in ignorance. No one could possibly hold you to them, given that you didn’t know the truth.”

“You think the truth would have given me a different fate?” Jon laughed. “You’re probably right. If the truth was known, I would never have made it to the Wall. I would have been dead before I could walk.”

“Not if Rhaegar had won. And speaking of fate, don’t you think that he might have been right?”

“That who might have been right?”

“The man who thought you had a destiny. What was it that Bran said? ‘A destiny to protect the realms of men.’ Rhaegar thought you were prophesied to save humanity. And you have! If it weren’t for you, I would never have brought my armies north. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t currently be putting the Others on the defensive, about to vanquish them.”

Jon stared down at the person he thought he knew better than just about anyone in the world and felt as though he were looking at a stranger. “You think Rhaegar was right?” he roared.

  
“Tens of thousands of people died because of what he did. My mother died a prisoner in a tower, covered in blood and drowning in her own guilt! And you think Rhaegar might have been _right_?”

“Forgive me,” Tyrion’s voice interrupted them. Jon swung wildly around to see the dwarf standing in the doorway, closing the door behind him. Jon hadn’t heard him enter. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, mortified to be found with the queen in his chambers in the middle of the night. “I understand that you two stopped trying to keep this quiet months ago, but you’re going to wake the entire fort with your screaming.”

“It’s none of your business, Tyrion,” Daenerys snapped.

“Your Grace, you’re rather making it my business by waking me up in the middle of the night. Which I wouldn’t mind, however, I told you we received a letter from the Tyrells yesterday—”

“We were discussing strategy,” Jon snapped. “Her Grace was just leaving.”

“I was not!” Daenerys pulled her furs around her, gathering strength.

“Dany, please,” Jon lowered his voice, hating that Tyrion was seeing them like this, embarrassed that he was hearing Jon use this tone of voice. “I’m tired. We’ll speak more tomorrow.”

***

At the ball for the anniversary of the Great War that night, Daenerys wore a gauzy violet gown that perfectly matched her eyes. It also hugged her curves in a manner that Jon found horribly distracting. He and Arya sat at the head table with Daenerys, Willas, and Tyrion.

“So what does the Night’s Watch actually do now that the Others are defeated?” Tyrion asked, sipping from his goblet of wine. “And why didn’t you simply disband the group and retire in some abandoned castle in the north?”

“And what would a retired lord commander do?” Daenerys asked. “He would be bored out of his mind. He needed to keep the Night’s Watch together just to stay busy.”

Jon cut into his pheasant, ignoring Daenerys’s cutting remarks. “We’re a peacekeeping force now,” he said. “There’s no more Wall. Instead, there’s two different cultures who used to be sworn enemies that now need to learn how to live together.”

“They banded together during the war,” Arya said. “But as soon as it ended, the fighting threatened to start again.”

“But why not simply let the wildlings—” Willas corrected himself after Daenerys’s glare—“I mean the Free Folk go back north? They weren’t fleeing anything anymore. And the winters are now far milder.”

“Silver, am I right?” Tyrion bounced excitedly in his chair. He himself had funded the first expedition north of the Wall to search for resources. He was already becoming quite rich off of the silver lode found at Hard Home. “With silver north of the Wall, the northerners are suddenly interested in the Free Folk’s territory.”

“But we are done with war,” Arya said.

“From what we hear, you do an effective job of keeping the peace,” the king said, turning to Jon. “They call you the Shadow Lord of the North.”

“They’re wrong.” Jon hated that title. “Sansa is the Lady and Wardenness of the North. She’s been ruling it effectively during a difficult time. I’m simply transforming the Night’s Watch into a force that the north still needs.”

The music in the hall changed to a bright and lively reel.

“Enough talk of politics,” Daenerys said. “I want to dance!”

She bounded out onto the dance floor with a pink tinge to her cheeks, looking lovelier than ever. Not for the first time, Jon wondered what his life would be like if he could join her—take her in his arms and let the court be damned. They had done it once in the north, after they had destroyed the right flank of the Others’ army at Barrowtown. He’d been so drunk on the thought that they might actually win the war that he hadn’t turned her down when she insisted, stumbling through the steps of the reel while the army cheered them on.

Now, she twirled through the ballroom, changing partners, her laugh echoing through the hall, confirming that she did still giggle sometimes. The queen part of her hadn’t entirely squashed the joyful girl. She switched partners, spinning into the arms of Harry Hardyng, then Lord Redwyne, then some man Jon didn’t know. Were any of them her lovers? Her marriage seemed cordial enough, but Jon didn’t sense any great passion between the queen and the king. She deserved comfort and happiness. So why, even after five years, did Jon’s heart still clench at the thought of her with another man?

“Jon,” Arya said softly, tapping his foot. Her voice pulled him out of his trance. He was staring. And he looked around the hall to see quite a few courtiers tittering. A woman in a low-cut blue velvet gown was smirking at him. Another was walking towards the table with a determined look on her face, as if she were about to ask him to dance.

“I’m going to get some fresh air.” Jon rose from the table, making towards the closest door and out onto a patio.

The air was not fresh. It was heavy and sticky, and he longed for the cool summer breezes of the north. A royal ball was a foolish place for a lord commander. He couldn’t dance. He couldn’t court any ladies. He had done the act of political theater required of him. Now he wanted to go home.

“Enjoying the warm air?” Lord Tyrion approached.

“No,” Jon said. “How do you bear this heat?”

“Still cooler than Dorne,” Tyrion shrugged. “How is life in the north treating you?”

“It’s good,” Jon said, honestly. He was proud of the work he had accomplished. His life was only missing one thing. “The north is changing, I think for the better.”

“It’s quite impressive, all that you’ve been able to achieve,” Tyrion said.

“Peace,” Jon responded. “Peace in the north. Peace in the south. We’ve all done quite well.”

“I know I was hard on you at times back then,” Tyrion said.

“I deserved it,” Jon muttered.

“But I wanted to thank you for making the choices that you did. I know it wasn’t easy. But it was the best decision for the Seven Kingdoms. The army loves you, but the highborn were not so keen on the thought of a bastard king. It would have meant civil war.”

“I know that,” Jon said. “It’s why I refused her.”

“Yes, well. It takes a special sort of person to turn down the Iron Throne. Especially when the offer comes with marriage to the woman he loves.”

Jon snorted. “Is that what she thinks of me as? A ‘special sort of person’?”

“Her words for you were a bit more crass. Especially after the war,” Tyrion laughed.

“Is she happy?” Jon asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Tyrion was quiet for a moment and uncharacteristically serious. “It was difficult after the war. But she seems content. She and Willas are a good match for a political marriage. He’s a calming influence. The man has practically no temper.”

“That’s good.” Jon’s voice cracked slightly.

“It’s a bit boring for me, but there you have it. There are enough politics around here to keep me entertained at least. Speaking of which, I should return. We have an envoy here from Dorne. I’m hoping we can make some progress on that front.”

Jon wandered farther away from the hall, walking out onto the battlements that overlooked the Blackwater. True to its name, the bay was dark—its inky black water impenetrable.

“The water holds few answers. I’ve asked it many questions, but it refuses to reveal its secrets.” Daenerys stood behind him, draped in her splendid gown, arresting even in the dark.

“I’m a northerner,” Jon turned back to the water. “We talk to trees, not water.”

“Ah,” Daenerys came to stand by his side, her arms resting on the stone wall, mere inches from his own. “And what do your trees tell you?”

“To stop brooding and get back to work,” Jon said.

“I’m sure the water would tell you much the same,” Daenerys laughed. Her real laugh. How Jon had missed it. “How are you? We haven’t really had a chance to talk.”

“I’m fine.” His words were painfully inadequate. How do you convey five years of your life to someone who used to know all your thoughts? “Keeping busy.”

"The Shadow Lord. Pretty soon you'll have as many names as me.”

“I hope that will be the last one,” Jon snorted. “Before the Grumpy Old Commander.”

“The Sullen Soldier. The Wizened Watchman.”

“Something like that,” Jon nodded. “And you? You look well. Healthy, I mean.” He hoped the night hid his blush. “And of course your reign is a great success.”

“Hardly,” Daenerys snorted. “I had to summon you down here to convince my armies that there was no point hoping you would come down and take over the realm for yourself.”

“They don’t want me to take power from you.” Jon insisted. “How could they? You saved the world.”

“I’m still a woman. And the soldiers grumble that they miss taking orders from a real man.”

“I’m sorry. You deserve so much more after everything you sacrificed.”

“Mmm, that’s interesting,” Daenerys said. “You talking about what life I deserve.”

“Daenerys,” Jon sighed. “The nobles never would have allowed it.” Five years had passed, and yet they were still having the same argument.

“You had the support of the army.” Daenerys stood up straighter. Her fighting stance. He remembered it well.

“It wasn’t enough.” Jon wrenched his gaze from hers to stare back at the water.

“It might have been if you told everyone the truth,” she said.

Jon slammed his fist into the stone wall and then took some breaths to steady himself. This was their first conversation alone in five years. He would not shout at the queen. “That would have made things worse.”

“Do you ever think about what it would have been like if you had risked it? If you had come south with me and declared yourself king?”

“Of course I do,” Jon said.

“And?” Daenerys asked.

“It’s too hot down here. And the nobles would have eaten me alive.”

Daenerys’s face fell, and he regretted his attempt at levity.

“Of course, I have regrets,” Jon insisted. “There are things I wish were possible, but I took my vows.”

“That was always the difference between us, wasn’t it?” Daenerys pushed away from the wall, distancing herself from Jon and crossing her arms across her chest, protecting herself. “I would have remade the world to fit our love. We vanquished the army of the dead together—ruling together seemed small in comparison. But I never meant the same to you as you did to me. That’s the truth of it, isn’t it?”

“Dany—I—” Jon stepped forward, trying to bridge the gap between them.

“No, I was right back then. As painful as it was. I was never worth the risk for you.”

She turned on her heel, headed back to the ballroom, leaving Jon to stare at the bay, lost in his own memories.

***

The room she gave him was different than the one he had stayed in before. He had prowled the chamber, looking for a secret door that might connect with the queen’s, but there was none to be found. He sat on the enormous bed, feeling foolish and, as was often the case with Daenerys, unsure of what he wanted. He missed her; being near her again confirmed just how much. He longed to take her in his arms, remembering how perfectly she fit. But he was tired of the storm between them. And sad that this is what it had come to. Part of him simply wanted to share ale with her over a fire and reminisce about all they had accomplished together. But there was too much between them. Five years, the Seven Kingdoms, a shared bloodline, family secrets, disappointments, and betrayals.

The northern party was to stay at the Red Keep for two weeks—a chance to strengthen ties between the north and the south and for the court to meet the Free Folk and begin to accept that these people were now part of the Seven Kingdoms.

Jon felt unmoored in Daenerys’s court. During the war, his escape from the drama and intrigue in his own life had always been spending time with his army. But now, while he trained with his own men every morning in the practice yard, he had to wave off challenges for bouts, requests from the soldiers of the queen’s army for their old lord commander to lead them through drills. The purpose of this trip was to show the army that Jon was only Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch now, no longer of the queen’s armies. And that he had no plans to use his popularity and his relationship with the queen to stage a coup. If his last visit to the Red Keep had turned into a trial to show the court he was worthy of leading the armies, this trip was to show them that he knew his place as a bastard and could give up power. It stung more than he thought it would. The courtiers’ faces morphed into Lady Catelyn’s in his mind, all wanting him to appear smaller than he was.

They also were, of course, waiting to catch him and Daenerys in the act. Their passionate and at times tempestuous love affair was no secret, and the courtiers’ smirks and titters were far from subtle and kept him from having a real conversation with Daenerys. Every word they spoke to one another was tracked, and no doubt written down in ravens sent across the kingdoms, so all the nobles would know just how scandalous the lord commander and the queen were.

“How are you, brother?” Arya rode up to him during a hunting trip in the King’s Wood.

“Ready to go home.” Jon watched as Daenerys led her court through the woods, light as a feather on her white horse, her silver braid glinting in the hot summer sun.

“Are you sure about that?” Arya squinted in Daenerys’s direction.

“Aye.” Jon turned to his sister, looking at ease in silk trousers paired with a proper woman’s riding jacket. “You seem to be enjoying yourself. More than I thought you would.”

“It’s Daenerys’s court,” Arya shrugged. “It’s not like she expects me to be the kind of lady Mother always wanted me to be. Plus, I’m enjoying scandalizing the nobles by being polite. They’re all expecting a Starkturned-wildling. Lady Stokeworth nearly fainted in shock when I dropped into a perfect curtsy the other day.”

Jon sent a silent prayer to the gods about the confident woman that Arya had become. Her years away from her siblings had been horrific, and her introduction back to the north had been difficult. But over time, she had grown into someone who was true to herself, while still being an asset to the north and the Stark family.

“Have you been able to talk to her?” Jon asked.

“Lady Stokeworth?” Arya’s eyes were full of laughter, but they turned to pity at the look on Jon’s sullen face. “Sorry. I have. We went for a ride, just the two of us, yesterday.”

“Good.” Jon’s horse shifted under him, as if sensing his master’s discomfort. “I regret that things soured between the two of you at the end. You were good friends. I never meant to get in the way of that.”

“If I have to choose, I’ll always choose you,” Arya said. “Besides, I was worried that she was trying to take you away from us. I’m older now. I understand it better. She’s not a bad person.”

“Of course she’s not,” Jon snapped, hurt that Arya would think that. Did she think that he thought that about the queen?

“You’re both just a bit impossible together. Both too stubborn. Both unable to bend.”

Jon was quiet, watching the queen from afar. She had taken a bow and arrow out of its quiver and was chasing a pheasant through the underbrush. She let out a joyful whoop as she released the arrow, and it hit its mark. He didn’t fully agree with Arya’s assessment. True, he and Daenerys could both fight fiercely. He knew they weren’t always the easiest to be around. But they had worked so well together until the end. They weren’t the problem. The world was.

“Have you talked to her?” Arya asked.

“Briefly,” Jon said.

“Do you want to talk to her more?” Arya patted her horse, avoiding Jon’s eyes. “I could see if I could help you arrange a private meeting. No one would know.”

“What?” Jon spluttered, mortified at the thought of his little sister arranging a meeting between him and his former lover. “No, Arya. Thanks, but no. There’s nothing left to say. We only need to survive this trip.”

“I forgot how much you blush around her,” Arya laughed. “I missed it a bit.”

“Arya, it’s not a game,” Jon groaned.

“No, I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry you’re both in this position.”

The hunting party stopped for a midday meal. Despite trying to hang back in the shadows, Jon ended up sitting in the inner circle near the queen. It was the closest he had been to her since the feast on their first night. Flanking her were her ladies-in-waiting, as well as Harry Hardyng, Lord Redfort, Lord Ambrose, and Lord Hightower. Jon noted the prevalence of the Reach in their party, despite the fact that the king consort had not joined them, on account that he had difficulty hunting on his injured leg.

“I see you’ve taken up hunting,” Jon said to Daenerys from across the circle as the squires passed bread and cheese around to the party.

Daenerys bit into an apple, staring at Jon from across the circle, as if sizing him up. He felt the eyes of the group on them and wished he hadn’t spoken.

“I have,” Daenerys said. “It’s a good way to ride, and I’ve found I have a knack for it.” Of course she did. She did for most things.

“Generous of you to ride with your court instead of flying above them,” Jon said. Some shadow crossed over Daenerys’s face, and he regretted his words. Surely, she could hear the jest in his voice and know he meant nothing by it? “I only meant that if Rhaegal was still here, it would be rare to find me on the ground.” He missed flying with a deep ache.

“Did you ever discover why you could fly the dragon?” Lord Hightower asked.

“Non-Targaryens have flown dragons in the past,” Jon said smoothly. He had fielded this question dozens of times. “I believe the gods gave me the tools I needed for the war.”

“And then took them away?” Lord Hightower raised a brow at Jon.

“Some of them.” Jon glanced at Daenerys and then away. Daenerys threw away her apple core, and the group took off again.

This time, Arya rode in front with Daenerys, and Jon found himself riding beside Harry Hardyng. He desperately wanted to call his sister back to him but didn’t want to appear weak. At the beginning of the war, Harry had snubbed Jon, constantly questioning his command and calling out Jon’s bastard status. When rumors started to spread about Jon and the queen, Harry became incensed and impossible to be around. Jon wouldn't have been surprised if he had been behind one of the assassination attempts on Jon’s life.

But as Jon’s popularity with the army grew, Harry’s attitude changed, and he became even more insufferable in Jon’s view. He would try to spend as much time with Jon as possible, weaseling up to the lord commander, on the rare occasions Jon wasn’t fully surrounded by his men. Harry’s fake laugh and attempts at camaraderie made Jon want to throttle him, although he refrained, knowing what a bad idea it was to hit the heir to the Vale.

And now Harry was Lord of the Vale. Little Robert Arryn had survived the war but died of the sweating sickness a couple of years ago. With a thrill, Jon realized that as lord commander only of the Night’s Watch and no longer of the queen’s armies, there was less reason to be polite to Harry.

“And I won yet another tournament. We had one recently in the Vale, not sure if you’ve head,” Harry prattled away. “I heard the queen wanted to throw a tournament in honor of the anniversary of the war, but you refused?”

“The queen could have thrown a tournament if she’d wanted to,” Jon said. “I simply told her I wouldn’t compete.”

“Why not?” Harry asked. “The people would have loved it.”

“I don’t fight for show,” Jon said.

"Still so serious, Lord Commander?” Harry smirked. “I would have thought the end of the war would have eased you.” Jon was plenty easy, when he was far from Lord Hardyng.

“The war ending brought its own challenges,” Jon said evasively, his eyes resting once again on Daenerys’s bright silver braid.

“I’m sure it did,” Harry laughed. “How did you win your way into her bed, if you don’t mind me asking? She hasn’t replaced you with anyone for long.”

Jon was silent, glowering at Harry with a look that often struck fear in his men. Harry, however, was undeterred.

“Fine, don’t reveal your secrets!” Lord Harry shrugged. “Everyone feels a bit sorry for her, you know. Clearly pining after a man who dropped her so easily.”

“Harry, I suggest you find a different topic of conversation, or you might never compete in a tournament again.”

Harry returned to chattering about his latest tournament wins and romantic conquests, luckily for Jon not seeming to take offense at the lord commander’s bald threat. Inwardly, Jon seethed. How dare this spoiled lord speak of the queen as if she were nothing more than a simpering girl? What would it take for these people to respect her and see her for what she was—nothing less than the woman who brought dragons back to the world and then saved the entire land of the living. Her private life was no business of theirs!

But Harry’s assessment of the queen’s private life rankled Jon, because it was too similar to Dany’s own assessment of their relationship—a love affair with a woman madly in love and a man happy to take advantage of her feelings but unwilling to give into the love fully. Was that what had happened to them? Did his heartache and his pain at separating from her never make it into anyone’s version of their story?

Daenerys made no more overtures at a private conversation with Jon, and he didn’t seek her out, either. If felt impossible with the eyes of the court constantly upon them. He spent his final full day at court in a sort of panic. Would this be the last time he ever saw her? And would her final assessment of Jon be as a wayward lover, eager to take his own pleasure but steadfast in his refusal to bend to the powerful queen?

His final night in the Red Keep, Jon paced his room, feeling penned in by its walls. During their years-long love affair, he and Dany had developed signals and escape routes. They became remarkably good at sneaking into each other’s rooms in the night. But here in the Red Keep, he had no idea how to get to her room without causing a scene. He had even less of an inkling if he’d be welcomed.

A low rustling sound startled Jon out of his reveries. Someone had slipped a note under his door. He opened it and instantly recognized the handwriting: Daenerys.

_Jon,_

_After the northern contingent leaves, I will be retreating to Summerhall alone. I find comfort and peace in the mountains. You are welcome to join me there—_

That was a terrible idea.

_I know you will say that is a terrible idea, and I’m being reckless. You are probably right. However, there is more I want to say to you, and I’ve found it impossible to do so in the Red Keep._

She wanted him to travel to Summerhall simply to talk? He found that hard to believe.

_Please know, if you did join me, my only expectation would be for you to spend time with me as an old friend, one who fought a war at your side. I wish to share some wine (for me) and ale (for you) and reminisce about what we accomplished together._

He’d wanted the same thing, but their previous conversations made him doubt their ability to talk without fighting.

_I confess, it’s difficult to imagine you leaving for the north, knowing I may never see you again, without the opportunity to talk. Truly talk without courtiers, armies, protocol, or rumors standing between us. At the very least, I believe you deserve a few-days break in a beautiful place. I think you would like Summerhall._

_  
I’ll give you the night to think about it. If you don’t come, I’ll understand and wish you the best._

_Yours,_

_Daenerys_

It was signed simply, without titles or declarations of love. Jon collapsed on the bed, the note resting on his stomach. Summerhall _._ He thought it was in ruins. He knew the place was connected to Rhaegar. Wasn’t that where he had been born? Was this some trick to bring him closer to his Targaryen ancestry? Did she plan to force him to face his heritage?

Jon read the note again, squinting in the dim light of the room. There was no mention of Rhaegar, only promises that she held no ulterior motives or expectations for his behavior. Still—he and Daenerys alone in the mountains for a number of days—it was difficult to imagine them spending so much time together and not falling into each other’s arms, as they always had before. Harry had said she hadn’t replaced him with anyone. The thought gave him some comfort, but it was still a blatant lie. She was married. No matter the particularity of the arrangement between the queen and the king consort, Jon was most certainly replaced.

Jon hardly slept that night, tossing and turning in agitation to the point where Ghost begged at the door to be let out of the room to run in the King’s Wood. As always, it was difficult to tell where Jon’s mood ended and his wolf’s began. Jon was up with the dawn, inspecting the horses and ensuring that all of the supplies were adequate for the return north. But as he made his preparations, he clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. The most prominent members of the northern contingent assembled outside the stables where the queen and king consort had come to say their goodbyes.

He bowed low to King Willas, accepting the king’s wishes for a smooth trip but barely registering them. And then he was before the queen perhaps for the last time. He bowed low to her, and she held out her hand. It was a customary gesture. Jon had been raised with the highborn; he knew what to do. Still, nothing felt perfunctory when he grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips. He caught her eye and recognized the question there. He didn’t have an answer for her yet, but his heart hammered in his chest at the thought of leaving her alone in Summerhall.

“Be well, Your Grace.” Jon’s voice was husky. What else was there to say? Nothing he could say in front of her husband and a courtyard full or courtiers eager for the most salacious gossip.

“You too, Lord Commander.” Daenerys brought her hand back to her side and straightened to her full height. He mounted his horse, waved to the group assembled in the courtyard, nodded one more time at Daenerys, and left the Red Keep.

Jon had made his choice many times over. Revisiting what might have been would only shatter him. And yet, he heard Harry’s word’s in his head, painting Daenerys as the lovesick girl and Jon as the easy philanderer. He heard Arya’s own doubts that Jon and Dany were actually good for one another. He heard the pain in Daenerys’s voice. Her years of doubting that Jon cared for her to the same extent that she cared for him. She gave him her army, her dragons, and her heart. And what had he given her in return? He had made the most powerful, the most beautiful, the most generous person he had ever met doubt that she was worthy of his love.

“Arya.” When they had exited the capital and started their journey on the King’s Road, Jon pulled his sister aside, making some space for the two of them apart from the group. “I’m not going north yet.”

“You’re not?” Arya’s face was laced with suspicion. “Where are you going?”

“There’s a group of Free Folk that have settled near Deep Den in the Westerlands.” Being the queen’s illicit lover for years had made him a very quick liar.

“I’ve heard of them,” Arya nodded.

“There’s been some trouble,” Jon said. “I’m going to go to see if I can mediate.”

“All right,” Arya nodded. “I don’t know why you didn’t mention it this morning. I suppose we can send you with about 300 men.”

Jon shook his head. “I need to go alone.”

“Oh.” Arya stared him down. He was good at lying, but Arya knew him too well.

“I won’t be gone long. I’ll only be a couple of weeks behind you,” Jon said.

“And you want me to tell everyone that you went to Deep Den alone?” Arya raised a brow at him, suspicion etched across her face.

“To mediate an issue,” Jon repeated confidently. “It will be better if I go alone. There will be less fuss that way.” Jon was high profile enough of a person that it was actually quite foolish for him to travel alone, which Arya of course knew.

“And you’re sure this is what you need to do?” she asked.

“Aye.” He’d made his decision. He couldn’t turn back now. “It’s what I need to do.”

“And you won’t need anyone, say your favorite sister, to put you back together again when you return from…Deep Den?” Had he been such a mess after the war?

“No, I won’t need any—I’ll be fine.” Heat rose to Jon’s cheeks. 

“All right, well, it’s your decision.” Arya shrugged and withheld her approval. “Be safe. Take Ghost with you. Crowds might still cheer your name, but you have many enemies in the south.”

“I’ll be careful.” Jon tugged on his horse’s reins, pulling them south.

“Jon!” Arya shouted after him, trotting along for one last word. “I will be there for you. If you need me, when you return north.”

It wasn’t quite permission, but Jon saw the love in his sister’s eyes. She was the one person who would always forgive his foolish recklessness.

“Thank you,” he said. “You stay safe, too.”

And with that he left, dismissing the confused calls from his men and riding south to his father’s retreat, where his former lover would be waiting for him.

**Playlist** ****

Most of the Time by Bob Dylan

Simple Twist of Fate by Bob Dylan

Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift

One Too Many Mornings by Bob Dylan

Cellophane by FKA Twigs

All Too Well by Taylor Swift

The Priest by Joni Mitchell

Up To Me by Bob Dylan

Mirrored Heart by FKA Twigs

The Ship Song by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

Who You Thought I Was by Brandy Clark

**Author's Note:**

> I thought that the next work in this series would be set during the war, but I woke up one morning with this story in my head and couldn't let it go. 
> 
> I have loved sad break up albums since I first heard Bob Dylan's Blood on the Tracks as a teenager, long before I'd ever been in love or experienced heartbreak. This entry in the series is my attempt at writing a fic version of a break-up album. The songs that inspired this are listed above. 
> 
> Thanks LifeInEveryWord for your edits!


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